Night Time Regrets
by LotornoMiko
Summary: Their encounters in the Enchanted Realm have left Hook and Emma with similar regrets. And an unacted upon attraction that still holds nightly sway over their dreams. Rated M For Smut.


Standard Disclaimer Time: I do not own Once Upon A Time, Hook, Emma or any other characters from that show. I do not make any money off them or off of this story. It is written purely for entertainment purposes.

-Michelle

It's not so much the sound, but the feel of dry, crumbly sand shifting under foot that really draws Emma into the dream. That makes it feel real, her sturdy boots slipping before she finds somewhat steady footing on the sand. That sand stretches on for miles, it's dull gray covering things that had once been alive, had once been vibrant with color and vitality. But now not even so much as a single shoot of green exists, the sand rendering this place into a barren wasteland long before Emma had ever been born.

It's not a place to be visited on a whim. Only the most needy, the most desperate would come here, and even then it would be overlooked by most. Very few would have the knowledge, let alone the ability to find and use what the sand hides. Emma's not sure Cora fits as desperate, though the woman does have the needy part down. And it is Cora who is responsible for the sound of water gushing unfettered in this place.

The water's noise is loud. So loud it hides Emma's approach. Cora's too busy gloating to even suspect that something might be about to upset her plans, and the woman's gasp is gratifying to hear when Mary Margaret's arrow knocks the compass out of the witch's hand.

Just like in her memories, Emma shouts. Her statement about how Cora wasn't going anywhere, that the portal would take them home instead, is not about taunting the woman. It's simply cold hard fact, Emma the desperate, determined one used to making things happen to her favor.

Caught up in the moment, Emma forgets that this is not just a memory, but also a dream. Where desires and ambitions are warped, and lines are blurred. Where outcomes are not set in stone, things twisting be they by regret, desire, or some unspoken need. Emma tells herself that she doesn't regret anything about that day, that there had been no desire greater than the one to go home to her son. And she's certainly not about to admit to needing anything, let alone from Cora's companion.

Hook.

Dressed all in black leather, the pirate looks every inch the villain Emma wants him to be. With the sword in his hand, the ruthless look of his expression, it makes it even easier to forget the man she had left on top of the beanstalk. The man whose dark eyes had shone with the hurt of Emma's betrayal, his voice breaking as he shouted after her, bewildered over the mistake he thought she was making.

Emma had been sure she was doing the smart thing, the right thing, the only thing she could do. She hadn't in any way been able to trust him, everything about the pirate setting off alarms in her head. Loudest of all, had been the alarming fact that she had noticed him at all. That she had felt stirrings inside her, a lust Emma had though buried, coming alive after being dormant for so long. A lust that had her questioning everything, right up to the reasons behind her motives for leaving the pirate behind.

Had it been because she couldn't trust him, or was it because Emma couldn't trust herself where the pirate was concerned? Had she been leaving him behind, or was is that she had been running away, fearing that where lust went her heart would follow? Perhaps it was that unsettled fear that brought her back to Lake Nostos. Certainly Emma thought that if she would choose to revisit her time with the pirate, it would be before things had gone wrong, before she had ruined any chance of them happening, and put that hurt look of betrayal in his eyes.

But he's not looking hurt right now. If anything he's laughing, looking lively if menacing with that sword in his hand. He doesn't seem at all bothered that she's fighting with him, heaping flirtatious praise one minute, then boasting his own prowess the next. He has a right to it, Hook a master with the sword, a weapon Emma's only just begun to learn how to use. It's no wonder Hook has Emma on her back within five minutes of their fight, and it's all she can do to hold him at bay, and even that won't be enough, her stomach twisting at his smirk.

It's not exactly unpleasant, the feelings that surged at being pinned by the pirate. There's this weird little flutter of her heart, it's beat increasing, Emma realizing she's excited. All because she's wanted to see Hook on top of her, wanted to have him gaze down and make her the focus of that intense stare of his. He has a way of looking at women, his eyes growing dark with sin and promises, and it would take a stronger woman than Emma to be able to resist entirely.

Sex and seduction oozing out of every pore, wicked sin his very nature by default, Hook is the kind of man that should be made illegal in all fifty states. He's like a drug, and one hit won't be enough, Emma's excitement increasing, things tightening inside her to hear Hook speak to her in a throaty purr.

"Normally..." A lascivious curl to his lips, he's got her sword caught between his blade and that hook that replaces his left hand. The metals all slide and rub together, Hook slowly pressing closer to her. "I prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back..."

Even now, the things he says are provocative, heating her blood, making Emma imagine it. Hook without his shirt on, that necklace he's wearing dangling over her, it's metal warmed by his skin. The hard lines of his body under her hands, muscles tense and flexing as he moves his hips, the pace harsh, relentless, unforgiving.

The situation doesn't allow for more than a second of devotion to her rampant imaginings, Hook still a threat, and talking.

"But with my life on the line..." He says, the insinuations and the downright playful feel Hook had been maintaining recedes. Is that a shred of regret in his eyes, or is Emma remembering wrong? Does it even matter, when it's a dream? Is some part of her trying to make Hook into something that he hadn't been, warring with the side of her that needs him to be a complete and utter bastard so that Emma can feel better about all they had done to each other?

"You've left me with no choice." He adds, and Emma both bristles and alternatively flinches at the accusation in his voice. It wasn't just the sword fight that had pushed his hand. It's everything coming right back to Emma's inability to trust, a line in the sand drawn with boundaries near impossible to meet, because SHE kept changing the rules. Not just with Hook, but with all men, Emma quick to hurt rather than be hurt.

"A bit of advice." Her sword has been rendered useless, turned aside by a simple twist of his hook. "When I jab you with my sword..." Pearl white teeth flash, the words he is saying chosen with deliberate care, taking his insinuations up to a whole other level that's almost obscene. "You'll feel it."

Her outrage flares, Emma angry. Not with him, but with herself, and all because she's reacting to his words. Because instead of hating it, hating him, she's feeling a mix of longing and loss, realizing everything is screwed beyond repair and it just might be her fault. Maybe she could have trusted him, but then it's not as if she'll ever know for sure. And it haunts her, that not knowing, but not half as much as he does, Emma more than curious as she wonders what it would be like to be wrapped up in those strong arms for longer than a few seconds.

Anger and regret mingle with an unhealthy does of yearning, Emma shifting beneath him. Not to distract him with the compass the way her memories SHOULD play out, but to lash out with her hand instead. To slap him resoundingly on the cheek, the smug light in his eyes saying Hook knows he's gotten to her, but that he doesn't realize just how. Because Emma's not pushing him away, though she does reach for him. She makes a fist around that dangling length of chain, and uses the necklace to haul herself and him together, Emma kissing Hook hard.

She tastes his shock, has thrust her tongue into his mouth before he can react. Tasting him thoroughly, her tongue a far better weapon than any sword she might have tried to wield, the tip of it rubs over the length of his. It makes them both shudder, and the sound of two swords hitting the sand clatter in the back of Emma's awareness.

Hook doesn't kiss her back until after he roughly fists her hair. That securing grip is just this side of hurting but the pain is such that it feels good. Her senses already so conscious of him, come alive, humming with pleasure at his commanding grip. Just as harsh and punishing is his kiss, Hook pulling on her hair, kissing her full out with tongue, lips and teeth. Emma tastes blood, feels the sting of his teeth on her lip, the pain a searing brand that marks her as Hook's for just this moment.

She bites him back and feels the way his breath hisses out of him. And just like that they are fighting for control, neither one willing to surrender to the other, but neither are they willing to stop. Their tongues are pushing at one another, his grip on her hair unrelenting. The metal of Hook's necklace is digging into her hand, and similar groves are being pressed into the pirate's neck by it, and Emma won't let go, needs that necklace as an anchoring chain against the passion that threatens to consume her completely.

She's already dizzy with her raging need, panting into the kiss, suffocating slowly on Hook. Emma can't break away, doesn't even want to try, and he's not letting her get away this time. His grip on her hair never relaxing, never gentling, Hook holds her prisoner and swallows down the mewling protest she makes. Everything starts to spin, and she's lost her grip, falling back against the hard sand with Hook on top of her.

His weight pinning her down, Emma is aware of every hard inch of him. Especially that throbbing presence pressing between her legs, straining against the confining leathers of Hook's trousers. Emma lifts her hips, actually starts grinding against his dick. A jerk on her hair isn't enough to get her to stop, not when Emma needs this and from him.

Another hard pull on her hair, and when Hook finally breaks the kiss, Emma is red faced and panting. She shakes with her hard gasps for air, grabs at his arms in an attempt to ground herself in the present. Hook gives her the most wicked smile, Emma's fingers curling in response on the leather of his coat. She's thrilling at the possibilities that look promises. She still gasps when he forces down her hips, the sharp tip of his hook running over the seams of her jeans. Splitting not only the jeans, but the fabric beneath it open, Emma shivers as cold air meets with her already damp flesh.

Emma swears she will slap him, if Hook so much as breathes a smug word about her body's quick and ready state. She's never been this wet this fast without a lover stimulating her with something more than kisses. Hook's barely touched her below the neck, and yet Emma is gushing for him. Has been since the moment he had first crouched on top of her, and filled her head with images by insinuation alone.

But this is past insinuations, the dream having spiraled out of control. Lake Nostos itself has changed, Cora and Mary Margaret gone. A dark velvet sky is above them, the sand having grown soft beneath her. The stars aren't half as bright as the gleam in Hook's eyes, his teeth flashing amidst a hungry smirk that Emma can't bear to look at anymore. She throws her arms up, covering her face with them, hiding from Hook and from herself, from her embarrassment over how much she wants him.

Her body doesn't care about any of that, wet and aching for Hook to do something, anything more and then a lightning sharp pleasure jolts through Emma. Her hips try to draw back, Emma bolting at the hot sensation of Hook's mouth. At the feel of that seeking tongue, moving with deliberate care over the furled folds of her flesh. Emma cries out, blossoming beneath his attention, and again tries to jerk back. Her progress is stopped by the arms dragging her forward, the pirate having hooked both of his over her legs. Her arms lower, Emma treated to the sight of Hook bent over her. His tongue fluttering, lapping eagerly at her melting center and Emma can't hold still, is actively fighting his grip though she doesn't really want to get away.

But neither can Emma give herself permission to enjoy. Not when it feels too much like a surrender, Emma squirming against his tongue. She remembers how to move her arms, hands reaching for him, the clean feeling texture of his dark hair under her questing fingers that then dig nails into his scalp. The pain causes his teeth to scrape, Emma jerking on his hair, having to fight Hook to haul herself free of that maddening tongue. He doesn't glare until after she's slapped him, Emma shaking with more than exertion. She shakes again at the near feral growl he gives her, the sound lending an uncivilized slant to the man, to the proceedings, to the lust bubbling between them.

It's unbearable, Emma letting out an urgent sound. It's a considering look Hook gives her, the man lowering his head. That ruthless flicker of his tongue teasing against her clit brings Emma rocking against the arms restraining her, Emma hissing a curse at him.

"Bastard."

She FEELS his laughter, her flesh smothering the worst of it, Emma jerking on Hook's hair once again. He's not going to move until he's good and ready, seems intent on torturing her in this way. Infuriating as he is proving ruthless, Hook's making a soaking wet mess of her and she can't stop wanting more.

Fingers in his hair, fingers to her mouth, Emma is biting down screaming. Writhing as her whole body tenses and shakes, Emma can't stop moaning. Rising higher and higher, every stroke of tongue bringing her closer, her body reaching for that pinnacle point that continues to dangle just out of reach. And then Hook's sliding inside her, and he hasn't even bothered to remove his clothes, but then neither has she.

Full of him in both body and senses, Emma clings to Hook, her legs locking behind his back. There's barely room to move, to breathe, and yet Emma is still trying to get closer and finding the limits of one's body in this endeavor. Her toes curl in her boots, Hook's mouth on her neck, and Emma realizes it's her that is whimpering, begging, pleading to anyone who will listen, her tense body poised to spasm into release and instead she jerks out of the dream with a shout.

Sweat soaked sheets twist around her bare legs, Emma upright and panting. Her hair is wild from her many toss and turns, and the thin T-shirt she wears feels too hot, it's collar too restrictive around her throat. Vaguely Emma is aware of the TV, a woman screaming at the discovery of a body in some murder mystery. Even as she feels irritated at being jolted out of the dream by it, Emma hopes the TV's noise will have provided cover for her own scream.

Emma's not in the best of moods. She's cranky and irritable, downright angry with herself. Emma knows she shouldn't be dreaming of the pirate unless as a nightmare of the most horrific kind. Hook's a bad man, who's left her to die once, and actively tried to kill her not too long later. He almost succeeded in keeping Emma from her son, Hook hadn't been anyone she had been able to trust. There were dozens of reasons more why she shouldn't be wanting him, and yes, some of those reasons were her own fault.

And yet when she dreams, none of that seems to matter. The blame falling away, until nothing is left but pure wanting. In Emma's dreams the situations play out differently, she's had Hook on top of the beanstalk, has been ravished in a cell by him, has even taken advantage of him in the forest. He's awakened something inside her, some unfulfilled need she'll keep on denying, even as her panties are soaked from just the thought of him and the T-shirt rubs uncomfortable against her stiff nipples.

It doesn't matter how much her body responds to him, dreams are all they'll ever have. She's safe in Storybrooke, and Hook's trapped in that other realm. They'll never meet again, Emma won't have to make a fool of herself fighting such a fierce desire, though she will live with regrets. Wondering how it could have been, if anything could have come from such an undeniable attraction if betrayals hadn't been the flavor of their match ups. And maybe one day, a night will pass where she won't dream of the pirate, won't be haunted by the memory of him and the hurt look SHE had put in his eyes.

I'm not sure to be continued should be used, though there will at least be a Hook companion piece added to this title. I had a strong urge to write smut this week...it's inspired about four plot bunnies...some I still have to think about more before anything can come of them. At one point I was considering merging this dream smut with another of the plot bunnies, but the damn thing decided to veer off course of the merger.

At least I have a title for once...I also want to dedicate this to my friend Zerousy, who has been encouraging me like crazy (to my extreme delight) where all my Hook Emma plot bunnies are concerned. This dream smut is partly her fault, cause when I started talking smut, Zerousy brought up the whole Jab you with my sword you'll feel it line. Much squeeing was had.

Alas this didn't go exactly like I wanted...I have to give some real thought if I want to write anymore after writing a Hook companion piece in this particular setting. First I have to write the Hook one before I make any real decisions...though right now it really feels as though it would stand best as a two shot.

-Michelle


End file.
